


Panic Attack

by icewhisper



Series: Holiday Cheer & Tears [10]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, M/M, Panic Attacks, Tagging even though the title says it because...yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icewhisper/pseuds/icewhisper
Summary: The problem came after the welcome-back, shut away in the privacy of a room that was his before it turned into Mick’s. He looked around at the mess as the door slid shut, stolen bobbles that he’d had no hand in taking and the familiar pile of clothes — one clean, one dirty — that Mick would never actually put away in their designated places. Things that had driven him crazy when they were first getting used to each other had become a comfort, but right then, it felt suffocating.





	Panic Attack

The problem came after the welcome-back, shut away in the privacy of a room that was his before it turned into Mick’s. He looked around at the mess as the door slid shut, stolen bobbles that he’d had no hand in taking and the familiar pile of clothes — one clean, one dirty — that Mick would never actually put away in their designated places. Things that had driven him crazy when they were first getting used to each other had become a comfort, but right then, it felt suffocating.

He wasn’t supposed to come back. He could feel it in his gut, like some part of him just wasn’t connected, and he knew. No one had wanted to say the words, too focused on the joy of getting back a teammate they’d lost. They called him a hero and ignored the fact that he was an aberration.

Ignored the fact that he wasn’t _real_.

They rambled on about memories that he’d had no part in, because his timeline with them stopped when Barry pulled him out for sharks and thieving. The timeline should have set, but it split. Ramon made a half-hearted crack that they should have expected it, that there were reasons why Barry wasn’t allowed to time travel anymore. Things got changed in ways that couldn’t be fixed.

A him that stayed on the Waverider.

A him that snuck off so he could check _rob those ARGUS creeps_ off his bucket list.

It wasn’t right. He felt wrong, like a mistake that needed to be corrected. The others praised him for a sacrifice he didn’t remember, but still knew instinctively in his gut that he hadn’t died to save them or to save the world. He didn’t care about the world, but if it came down to him or Mick dying, he’d always choose himself.

He didn’t tell them that, partly because it wasn’t any of their business, but mostly because he didn’t think he could handle the amount of words it would take to make them understand that Leonard Snart wasn’t a hero. He was a skilled thief, an annoying brother, and a shitty husband, but he was no hero.

His ass hit the floor before he realized he was sliding down the wall, limbs shaking and breath short. The world was too loud and he was too wrong. He didn’t fit. Thought he might have said it — maybe even sobbed it — out loud, because Mick called him an idiot. Mick always called him an idiot when he put too much on his own shoulders.

He shouldn’t have been reacting like this. Whatever Barry had screwed up had knocked him off course with twisted timelines and a passing knowledge of a death that had and hadn’t happened. He liked straight lines, liked the idea that he knew how his life was going, but he didn’t know anymore. He was alive, but he was dead. His _life_ was a contradiction on a level that he couldn’t wrap his head around and, fuck, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t-

Mick’s hands came around his wrists, holding him still and Len realized somewhere in the back of his mind that he’d been clawing at his own chest through the layers on his sweater. The touch was there and it was anchoring. Real. Mick was real and Mick was holding onto him. He was-

He was an aberration.

He wasn’t real. He was a screw-up in the timeline, subject to fall away to nothing if things righted themselves. They _should_ right themselves. That was half of the team’s mission. They were supposed to fix things like him. Make him-

“No,” he gasped when the touch went from anchoring to too-much in the way that made his eyes tear up. Mick’s hands disappeared, but his voice didn’t. He could hear him over the blood rushing in his head and the too-loud noise of his breathing-

(Did breathing mean he was real?)

-but he couldn’t focus on the words. Couldn’t make his brain latch onto what Mick was trying to tell him. He could figure what it was; that Mick was trying to tell him that it was okay, that he was real, and that he was _safe_ , but couldn’t Mick understand that he wasn’t? None of this was okay. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t safe. _None_ of them were safe if he was there and, shit, hadn’t he hurt Mick enough? Mick had already lost him once – not him, the other him, _fuck_ – and if they fixed the timeline, Mick would lose him again.

Lisa would lose him again without ever knowing he’d been given back to her.

Not back.

Not real.

He pressed his eyes closed as the edges of his vision blurred, and realized his lashes were wet. He was crying. He hadn’t had an attack this bad since his dad had smashed a beer bottle over Lisa’s shoulder and he’d had to stitch her up. He was why she had that ugly scar. Him. Everything he’d done wrong in his life and the others thought he was a _hero_? He laughed, something dark and hysterical.

“ _Len_.”

He heard Mick that time – single word, single syllable – and nodded. Couldn’t focus on Mick without remembering sad eyes and frown lines and a beer clutched in his hand like it was salvation.

“Breathe.”

Can’t.

“Please.”

His hand guided to lie on Mick’s chest and released so he could control the touch. The steady rise and fall of Mick’s breathing. He tried to match it and thought he’d forgotten how to breathe entirely.

“Slow.”

Slower. Eyes closed. The movement of Mick’s chest. Timing. He was good at timing things. He could match it. Force his own to something calm.

Had the other him been scared when the Oculus blew? Had his breathing been steady then?

“No. Here.”

Here. Not there. Mick. Mick was there.

They stayed like that until his breathing slowed, interrupted only by the tiny hiccupping sobs that he hadn’t been able to shut away. Mick didn’t reach out to wipe the tears away, but Len didn’t think he wanted him to, anyway. The skin of his palm was crawling with the contact as it was and they weren’t good at tender. He didn’t want to fuck it up by flinching away.

“With me?”

Len nodded shakily. “Think,” he croaked out. His throat hurt, so did his head. He wanted to lie down, but he wasn’t sure he could pick himself up off the floor.

Mick hummed softly and settled down on his right side, not touching, but close enough that Len could reach out if he needed to. “We’re not changing the timeline,” he told him after a while. “Some of the aberrations? They’re good. Stein ended up with a daughter. She had a kid last year.”

Len rolled his head towards Mick tiredly, lips curved down in a frown. “What…”

“We’re not fixing you,” Mick said and gave him a tiny twitch of a grin. “Don’t think there’s anyone on any Earth that could.”

Len let out a noise of amusement. Screwed up. No fixing him. It was a familiar joke, tinged with the knowledge they’d gained over the years. Different earths. Time travel. Sometimes, he wished Rip Hunter had never brought them to that rooftop.

He didn’t believe Mick, but…maybe eventually.

Maybe he would eventually.

The End


End file.
